sister.’
Betty’s eyes lit up. ‘Thanks! I appreciate that because I don’t get much in the way of pocket money since Aunt Elsie married again. But I do have a little job.’
They crossed Lime Street and went inside the café and sat down at a table and picked up a menu. A waitress came over to the table with a notepad and pencil and gazed at Emma expectantly.
‘A pot of tea for two,’ she said.
‘Anything to eat?’
Emma looked at Betty. ‘What would you like?’
‘Seeing as you’re paying you choose.’
‘What’s your favourite cake?’ asked Emma.
‘Chocolate, but I don’t expect you to buy that because it’s dear. A scone will do me. After all, you’ve had the cost of the journey,’ said Betty seriously, leaning across the table towards her.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ said Emma,smiling. ‘But if you ever come to visit me, I’ll make you a chocolate cake as good as my grandmother used to make before the war.’
‘You like baking?’ said Betty, interested.
‘I’m good at it and I know I’m the one who shouldn’t be saying that. The proof is in the tasting,’ said Emma. ‘Right now I would like to taste what the scones are like here and see if they match up to mine.’
She gave the order and watched as the waitress moved away before taking Lizzie Booth’s letter and her father’s birthday card from her bag. She slid them across the table towards her half-sister.
Betty picked up the card first and inspected it. ‘It’s good! I like art, you know, but my aunt wants me to have what she calls a proper job. I don’t know why she thinks money can’t be made from studying art.’
‘You must take after our father.’
Betty blushed. ‘I like to think so. What do you like to do?’
‘I earn money from bookkeeping. I also enjoy knitting and crochet work, as well as cooking, of course.’
‘That’s creative. Mum was a good cook,’ she added, gazing down at the letter open on the table. She felt a catch at her heart as she recognised her mother’s handwriting and for several moments could only see the words through a blur of tears.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Emma in a gentle voice, placing a hand over her half-sister’s on the table.
‘It’s just seeing Mum’s handwriting suddenly like that,’ said Betty, her voice unsteady.
‘I still get upset about Granddad. It’s so hard when you lose someone you’ve known and lived with all your life. I got the impression that your mother Lizzie was a kind and thoughtful person. I would have liked to have met her.’
Betty lifted brimming eyes to Emma. ‘You do understand. She was the best person I ever knew and very different from her sister, my Aunt Elsie. She gets all wound up if I mention Mum, so I don’t get to talk about her often. I sometimes feel that if I could talk about her more she wouldn’t seem so dead.’
‘Do you dream about her?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Was your mother pretty?’
‘Oh yes!’ Betty took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘She didn’t have freckles like me and her hair was a much nicer shade of red. I sometimes wonder whether Aunt Elsie was jealous of Mum and that’s why she doesn’t like to talk about her.’
‘It’s possible that your aunt just might find it too painful to talk about her. After all, they were sisters and must have been fond of each other, ifyour mother decided the pair of you should move in with her family.’
Betty stilled. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘Is your aunt unkind to you?’
‘Not really. We just don’t always see eye to eye. Although she’s been more difficult since she remarried.’ She fell silent, toying with her handkerchief.
Emma waited for her to go on, but when Betty did not continue, she said, ‘Would you like to see a photograph of my grandparents? I’ve one of my mother, too.’
Betty nodded.
Emma took the photos out of her bag and slid them across the table. Betty picked them up and scrutinised them.
Betty’s eyes lit up. ‘Thanks! I appreciate that because I don’t get much in the way of pocket money since Aunt Elsie married again. But I do have a little job.’
They crossed Lime Street and went inside the café and sat down at a table and picked up a menu. A waitress came over to the table with a notepad and pencil and gazed at Emma expectantly.
‘A pot of tea for two,’ she said.
‘Anything to eat?’
Emma looked at Betty. ‘What would you like?’
‘Seeing as you’re paying you choose.’
‘What’s your favourite cake?’ asked Emma.
‘Chocolate, but I don’t expect you to buy that because it’s dear. A scone will do me. After all, you’ve had the cost of the journey,’ said Betty seriously, leaning across the table towards her.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ said Emma,smiling. ‘But if you ever come to visit me, I’ll make you a chocolate cake as good as my grandmother used to make before the war.’
‘You like baking?’ said Betty, interested.
‘I’m good at it and I know I’m the one who shouldn’t be saying that. The proof is in the tasting,’ said Emma. ‘Right now I would like to taste what the scones are like here and see if they match up to mine.’
She gave the order and watched as the waitress moved away before taking Lizzie Booth’s letter and her father’s birthday card from her bag. She slid them across the table towards her half-sister.
Betty picked up the card first and inspected it. ‘It’s good! I like art, you know, but my aunt wants me to have what she calls a proper job. I don’t know why she thinks money can’t be made from studying art.’
‘You must take after our father.’
Betty blushed. ‘I like to think so. What do you like to do?’
‘I earn money from bookkeeping. I also enjoy knitting and crochet work, as well as cooking, of course.’
‘That’s creative. Mum was a good cook,’ she added, gazing down at the letter open on the table. She felt a catch at her heart as she recognised her mother’s handwriting and for several moments could only see the words through a blur of tears.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Emma in a gentle voice, placing a hand over her half-sister’s on the table.
‘It’s just seeing Mum’s handwriting suddenly like that,’ said Betty, her voice unsteady.
‘I still get upset about Granddad. It’s so hard when you lose someone you’ve known and lived with all your life. I got the impression that your mother Lizzie was a kind and thoughtful person. I would have liked to have met her.’
Betty lifted brimming eyes to Emma. ‘You do understand. She was the best person I ever knew and very different from her sister, my Aunt Elsie. She gets all wound up if I mention Mum, so I don’t get to talk about her often. I sometimes feel that if I could talk about her more she wouldn’t seem so dead.’
‘Do you dream about her?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Was your mother pretty?’
‘Oh yes!’ Betty took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘She didn’t have freckles like me and her hair was a much nicer shade of red. I sometimes wonder whether Aunt Elsie was jealous of Mum and that’s why she doesn’t like to talk about her.’
‘It’s possible that your aunt just might find it too painful to talk about her. After all, they were sisters and must have been fond of each other, ifyour mother decided the pair of you should move in with her family.’
Betty stilled. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘Is your aunt unkind to you?’
‘Not really. We just don’t always see eye to eye. Although she’s been more difficult since she remarried.’ She fell silent, toying with her handkerchief.
Emma waited for her to go on, but when Betty did not continue, she said, ‘Would you like to see a photograph of my grandparents? I’ve one of my mother, too.’
Betty nodded.
Emma took the photos out of her bag and slid them across the table. Betty picked them up and scrutinised them.
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